Wednesday, March 7, 2012

My due date was June 4th. Ripley arrived nearly four weeks early, but all measurements this
time pointed to a full term (read: on time) arrival. Again, we decided not to find out the gender of the
baby ahead of time. My birthday was rapidly approaching, May 25th. People often would remark how
wonderful it would be if the baby arrived on my birth date. Yuck! Who wants the same birthday as their
mother? Somehow, this baby knew and held on for two more days.

At 1:30 AM on May 27th, I woke up to use the bathroom as usual when I realized that my water
had broken. My first thought, “Again? I haven’t had a full night’s sleep yet.” I went back to bed and
didn’t say a thing to my husband who was still soundly asleep. My hope was that I could just go back to
sleep. My birth plan included doing as many “normal” and “routine” things as possible for whatever the
time of day it was, until it was genuinely time to go to the hospital. The idea was to go through labor
as much as possible away from the hospital, away from the potential interventions. So at 1:30 AM, the
most logical thing to do was to go back to sleep. But I couldn’t. Within 15 minutes, the contractions
started. I lay there, thinking about the contractions, wondering if I should wake my husband up or not.
Then I realized I ought to time them. It was difficult to see in the dark the time on my watch. The watch
hands didn’t glow bright enough. I should have gotten a better watch, one with a digital timer. Was
that five or eight minutes? It’s so hard to tell with these Roman numerals. Another 15 minutes or so
passed and I woke my husband up.

“My water broke.”

“How far apart are your contractions?” Drew asked.

“Um, I’m not sure…maybe five or ten minutes apart?”

Immediately Drew sprung into action. He grabbed one of our smart phones and found the timer
app. Of course, we hadn’t practiced using it, so we’re both fumbling with how it worked. I decided to
take a shower. The warm water felt so good against my skin. The contractions were intensifying, but
still manageable and the water relaxed me. But after a while in the shower, I had used up the hot water
and it was time to leave. My husband called my in-laws to see if they could come down and watch
Ripley. They live about 90 miles from us. They could come, but not until the early afternoon, as they
had guests leaving their vacation rental that morning. I began thinking about Ripley and what to do
with her. I could feel my anxiety starting to build. I was supposed to stay at home as long as possible
to avoid hospital interventions but typically subsequent labor and deliveries are shorter and faster. I
asked my husband what he wanted to do with Ripley and he thought he could just take her to daycare as usual. Now it was 4 AM and the contractions were starting to speed up and intensify. We called our
one friend, Becky, whom we knew would be awake at 4 AM and did not have to work the next morning.
Becky was on her way to our house. I texted Cheryl to let her know that labor had started and called the
midwife on-call to give her a heads up.

By 6 AM, the contractions were starting to knock me off my feet. My poor husband tried to do
all the he could. He offered to start the bath for me, but I feared that the noise would wake up Ripley.
He offered to massage my lower back but all I wanted to do was curl up in to a ball on the bed and be
left alone. I attempted to listen to my hypnobirthing music, but I could only manage for 20 minutes. I
forced myself to eat a small cup of yogurt and some water to stay hydrated and energized. My anxiety
got the best of me.

I was ready to go to the hospital and now I wanted an epidural. I had hit a wall.

He turned to me, ever so gently, “Now, we talked about this. We don’t want an epidural
because of the baby.”

“Forget the baby, this really, really hurts!” I snapped back.

As we prepared to leave, Ripley woke up. I greeted her in the kitchen, but could hardly stand.
The contractions were between three to five minutes apart and once at the apex of the surge, I had to
hold on to something, then sit and catch my breath. I was ready to leave. As I made my way out the
kitchen door, I turned around to see Drew making breakfast for Ripley. I wanted to scream at him, but
that would require using energy, energy I just didn’t have. “I’m going to wait for you in the car.” I sat in
the car for what felt like an eternity. Drew popped in less than five minutes later.

As we drove to the hospital, it felt like the longest drive possible. There was absolutely no traffic
and yet it felt like time was dragging, especially during those contractions. Every sway of the car made
me feel sick and anxious that we wouldn’t get there in time. During the drive, Drew called Cheryl and
told her we were on our way to the hospital. Apparently she did not get my text message. Drew told
her that I had changed my mind and wanted an epidural. She asked to speak with me and pleaded for
me to not get an epidural and to wait until she got there. I told her she had better hurry then.

Once we got to the hospital, my husband proceeded to drive to the parking garage.

“What are you doing?”

“Um, parking the car?”

“No, no. Drop me off. Go that way,” I said as I pointed in a different direction.

It had been two years since either of us had been at the actual hospital. During this time, the
hospital expanded and added another wing. Needless to say, I told him to go the wrong way. As we
drove around the building, it was obvious we were driving away from the labor and delivery pavilion.
I saw an entrance sign and told Drew to drop me off there. It was the emergency department entrance. Just as he put the car in the park position, I opened my car door and I waddled my way
through the automatic sliding glass doors.

“Do you want a wheelchair?” Drew was rushing towards the wheelchairs at the entrance.

“No!” I kept walking straight ahead.

“You don’t have your wallet or insurance card!” he yelled after me as I made my way through
vestibule.

“I don’t care.” I kept going while Drew went back to move the car. It was still idling.

As I waddled my way gingerly towards the front desk, a man came rushing towards me with a
wheelchair. I gathered my composure and whispered thanks as the contractions had left me breathless.

We were on the complete opposite side of the hospital from the labor and delivery ward.

The man proceeded to wheel me towards labor and delivery. We approached the first of
three sets of double doors in which he swiped his ID card through a key reader and the doors magically
opened ahead. I felt a wave come over me as I tried to breathe through it, just wishing we weren’t so
far away from the labor and delivery ward, from my epidural that was surely awaiting me.

We reached the elevator. He wheeled me into the elevator. As the doors began to shut, an arm
reached in. Seriously? I thought. It was Drew. He was out of breath, a pack mule with two bags and a
basket of goodies that I had prepared for the nursing staff. I would later learn that each time we passed
through those set of double doors, Drew was just far enough behind to see us pass through them, only
to have the doors close when he reached them. Like a scene from a movie, he had to get other staff
members to swipe their ID cards to open the doors, rush to the next set of doors, only to have them
close on his face each time.

Just one flight up and we arrived at the Labor and Delivery floor. We passed through
yet another set of double doors. We arrived at the front desk to check in. My husband furiously pulled
out his insurance card and proceeded to answer questions. At first, the questions seemed rather
typical. Her name? Date of birth? Due date? OB/GYN? They seemed to be fairly standard question,
but then the front desk nurse started to ask him questions like, “What is your name? Where do you
work? What’s the address and phone number there?” Oh my God, who cares where my husband works
and what’s the point of pre-registering??? I yelled silently in my head but I sat silently and still in the
wheelchair, bracing the metal arms when I felt a contraction come over, breathing through it, but
wanting to melt into the plastic vinyl seat if I could. Then she handed me a clip board. It was yet
another form with the same questions. For a moment, I thought this was a test. I asked for a pen.
Everyone around me glanced around their area but no one had a pen. They handed me a pencil.
Quietly I asked aloud, “Is this even legal?” But no one responded to me. I proceeded to quickly fill it
out. The sooner this form was completed, perhaps the sooner I could get my epidural. My hands were
shaking, unsteady for the fatigue from gripping the arms of the wheelchair.

I handed the clip board back and sighed a breath of relief as they began to wheel me towards an
open room. My husband gave the staff the basket of goodies and my birth plan. The birth plan! I had
forgotten about it. “No, don’t give them that. Cross out the part about not wanting an epidural. I want
it now.” Drew still handed them the birth plan and it was too late.

Jessie, our nurse, introduced herself to me as a nurse who was familiar with natural births. I
smiled at her and said, “I know I said I didn’t want an epidural, but I want one now.” She replied that
some blood work needed to be done first. For some reason, this made me feel better. There was a
procedure and the process had begun.

Drew leaned down and said gently to me, “I know you can do this.”

All I could smell was the coffee on his breath and this irritated me. I replied, “I love you, but you
need some gum.”

Clearly, this is an example of what a laboring wife will say to a husband and his ability to look
beyond that a sign of genuine support. Without missing a beat, Drew reached for a piece of gum out of
our bag, popped one in and his face was again directly in front of mine. “Would you like some water?
You need to stay hydrated.”

Suddenly, I realized, we never had a “safe word” if I really wanted an epidural, natural birth out
the window. In as calm and serious of a voice I could muster, I said, “I want an epidural and I need you
to facilitate this.”

At some point, Cheryl our doula had arrived. Instantly I felt relieved by her presence. She asked
me if I was thirsty. I wasn’t, but she offered me some water and I drank some even though Drew had
asked me just five minutes earlier. She asked me if I needed to use the bathroom. I didn’t, but I went
anyway and sat for a bit, because she told me to. She asked if I wanted to sit on the birthing ball. I
didn’t want to, but I did so anyways. I was back on the bed and it seemed like she asked me again if I
wanted to use the bathroom. No, but we all took a trip to the bathroom once again.

At one point, I wanted to curl back into the fetal position and rest. Suddenly, the contractions
weren’t so bad. I could just count my way through them. I got into that zone, like I had practiced with
hypnobirthing. I breathed and breathed like I had practiced. There was no pain, just pressure, in waves
and I was going up and down, bobbing along for the ride. I was in control again, comfortable. And then
it happened. It was time to meet this baby. Suddenly, I was energized and excited.

The delivery process was rather hilarious. I was not in a traditional position but it felt like the
right one for me. At one point, it seemed like someone was trying to enter our room, but the midwife,
nurse and Cheryl all pushed them back out. I asked Drew if it was the cleaning crew, as they had once
before tried to enter the room. He replied yes, but in reality, it was the anesthesiologist who was
shooed away.

From the moment we arrived at the hospital to the time I was ready to push, it was only an
hour. It took an additional hour for the delivery. The entire hospital experience felt like 30 minutes instead. As soon as I delivered, Drew was the one to announce we had a girl as I reached out with
uncontained excitement and giddiness to hold her. I cried uncontrollably, tears of relief, of joy, of
accomplishment and of satisfaction.

Ryder Elle Kim-Hac arrived at 9:33 AM weighing 8 pounds and 8 ounces. The midwife informed me that the delivery might have been even faster, had little Ryder not had her hand next to her face, complicating her exit. But still, Ryder managed to wave her fingers, jazz-hands, as the midwife brought her out.

Two hours post-delivery, I was still on such a natural high. I felt so proud that I did it. I delivered
our baby naturally. I was able to hold Ryder instantly upon arrival, to nurse her so easily. I was awe-
struck, incredulous that I could do it, especially since I felt so close to the edge of giving up. I was able to
walk around freely, my mind and thoughts clear. Ryder was so calm, so content, already demonstrating
her easy going personality from the get go.

When I describe my VBAC experience to others, I am always quick to point out that I had an
amazing experience with the help and support of others. The best analogy would be akin to preparing
for a marathon. I had a goal. My husband was my biggest cheerleader and supporter. Cheryl, our
doula, was my coach, forcing me to create a birth plan and seeing me through the event, even as I hit
the wall and wanted to quit. And along the way, I had support from others: my weekly visits with a
chiropractor to ensure the alignment of my spine and pelvis to prepare for birth; my midwife team
who understood my end goal and the reasons behind it; my childbirth educator who helped me with
hypnobirthing techniques and training; and my family and friends who never doubted my ability to do
so. Ultimately, I think what made me successful was that I prepared as best as I could for this event.

The topic of an epidural can be so divisive at times. While my VBAC experience was successful
without an epidural, early in Ryder’s delivery, it seemed liked I constantly pleaded for one. The labor
and delivery process for me was physically unknown so I tried to cling to the one constant that I knew,
the one thing that would allow me to gain control. Once I was able to reach my zone and not let the
contractions control me, I was able to move forward again. I have absolutely no judgments against
others who wish to have one. I mean, I had one myself the first time. What I was trying to accomplish
was a natural birth and to avoid the path of interventions leading to further interventions. I think many
people are able to accomplish a successful birth with an epidural. I was trying to avoid it because of my
sensitivity to medications.

While each of my baby girls arrived in their own unique way, my love and adoration for each
of them remains constant, whole and boundless. My VBAC experience allowed me to deliver not only
a healthy baby, but allowed me to recover quickly and easily so that I could be present for my entire
family.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

As they wheeled me to the operating room, with what strength I had left, I just breathed. If
I have to do this, I have to do this, I thought to myself calmly. During the procedure, I was terrified.
They strapped my arms down and out, like a human letter T. The anesthesiologist informed me that
during the c-section, he would have to turn up the epidural, which would mean I would feel additional
numbness from below my ribs and down. While the surgery was being performed, I couldn’t help but
think that it felt like when I was a kid having my molars removed. Even though I was numb, I could still
feel pressure. It was …weird. And then I heard the cry.

Drew was beside me with tears of joy in his eyes. It’s a girl! I was relieved to hear that she
arrived safely. They brought her to me but I couldn’t hold her. My arms were numb and still strapped
down. I remember the friendly nurse brought Ripley close enough to brush against my cheek for our
first meeting. And then, they whisked her away.

My husband left to be with her, which I urged him to do while the rest of the staff prepared to close me up. As I lay there, I felt so tired. Any will power had been zapped. I started to feel heavy, like someone was sitting on my chest. And then I realized I couldn’t breathe. The numbness was creeping up my chest, across my breasts, engulfing me like a black shadow. I tried to speak to, but my words came out in a whisper. Large tears rolled down my face and I couldn’t stop them. I felt like I was drowning and no one knew it.

Suddenly, the anesthesiologist turned to look at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered.

He didn’t hear me and had to lean down closer to me. With what remaining effort I had left, I
whispered more forcefully, “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, I do have this turned up. I could turn this down a bit now.” He responded, ever-so
nonchalantly. I glared at him but he didn’t notice.

Ripley Anne Kim-Quy was born on February 3, 2009 at 8:54 PM. She weighed 7 pounds and 3
ounces and measured 20 inches long. And for two more hours after she was born, I did not hold her
simply because I physically could not. I drifted in and out of sleep as a result of the medications and
fatigue. I wanted to breast-feed her immediately but couldn’t even sit up. When I finally was able
to hold her and attempt breast feeding, I felt like I had rubber arms. The details of that night are still
foggy. It wasn’t until the next morning, when Drew left to go home and feed our cats that I was finally
alert, cognizant and alone with Ripley. I was able to finally absorb and understand the full extent of
her arrival, to become overwhelmed with joy, gratitude and love for this tiny being. I loved her with
my entire soul. It would take years for me to get over feeling robbed of this magical epiphany between
mother and child, even though it was merely hours lost.

When Ripley began walking at 16 months, I began to see her as a small person rather than a
baby. She understood what we said and could follow simple directions. I began to wonder about her
future, what kind of person she would become and how the people around her would come to shape
her. In the process, I began to reflect upon my own upbringing, having been raised as an only child, but
becoming close to my half-sister in adulthood. My sister-in-law came to visit one time, and as usual, my wacky in-laws were doing something unconventional. She gave my husband this knowing look, one in which only siblings could share and understand without saying a word. It was then we decided that we couldn’t let Ripley grow up alone.

However, there was just one big issue to deal with. Was I ready to have another c-section?

*********

At my post-partum visit following Ripley’s birth, the doctor that delivered Ripley informed me
that subsequent pregnancies would result in c-section deliveries, as it was the “policy of the practice.”
What did that even mean?

Around this time, I came across a book review in the Washington Post about the history of
childbirth, called Birth: The Surprising History of How We Are Born by Tina Cassidy. The irony is that I hardly read the newspaper given my limited time and when I did, I usually didn’t read book reviews. But this one caught my eye. The article mentioned that the author was motivated to research this topic following her disappointment in the delivery and birth of her own child, via c-section. She could have been talking about me. And that’s how I became fixated on learning more about childbirth. I had wanted to put the past experience behind me, but now I realized I needed to understand my experience if I was to go through with another pregnancy and have a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC). Forget re-reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting, my reading list included Birth, and a few others:

Pregnancy the second time around was different on many levels. The first most obvious was
that I could not rest during my fatigue and nausea-ridden first trimester. I had a toddler now who
demanded my attention. With what remaining energy and time I had, I focused it on the end product,
delivering a healthy baby vaginally. Forget registering for baby items or getting the nursery ready.

After two visits at my OB/GYN group practice that had delivered Ripley, I made the decision to
switch to a midwife practice. That last visit made all the difference. In meeting their newest associate,
I asked her numerous questions about a VBAC. When I asked her about my chances of having a
successful VBAC, she tried to change the terminology and explained that it would be a “trial of labor.” I was clearly irritated. I didn’t want a chance to try, I wanted to succeed. Finally, after pushing her to give me an answer, her best guess was a “50, maybe 60 percent chance.” No way, those odds were way too low for me. I’d be better off playing roulette at this point given her hesitation. I switched to a midwife practice that was still affiliated with the same hospital where I had delivered Ripley.

I don’t know if anyone else experiences this, but when I start to do internet research, I
sometimes find myself feeling overwhelmed by so much information that it's not clear which way
to go and now I am further confused and frustrated. Luckily, I took a chance and emailed Cheryl, a
doula I found online who seemed local to my area. We met and hired her to become my doula. Cheryl
was the coach I needed to help me train for this marathon I had never run. She was the event planner
for a wedding I never had. As someone who has personally delivered six times and attended over 200
births, she is fully aware of the intricate process of labor and delivery. We met several times over the
course of the pregnancy. She asked me many questions, forcing me to think through various scenarios,
to understand the medical and technical aspect of how the hospital and nurses operate and lastly, to
create a birth plan.

A birth plan? This seemed silly to me. I knew what I wanted. From my research and reading, I
wanted a natural birth. Intervention leads to more intervention to even further intervention, resulting
in a c-section. It seemed to me, Ripley’s delivery was classic, the result of one intervention (Stadol)
leading to another intervention (epidural) combined with another (pitocin) resulting in an abnormal
fetal heart rate until the final intervention (c-section). I wanted a vaginal birth for several reasons. I
wanted to recover quickly from the delivery because not only would I have a newborn to care for, I also still had my toddler at home. People often say, what you want is a healthy baby, but what I wanted was a healthy family, baby and me included! Cheryl, my doula, understood what I wanted, but it was the process of writing it down that was important. This forced me to understand all aspects of labor and delivery, especially technical aspects in which I could have a choice in the hospital setting. One strategy was to avoid the hospital as long as possible once labor began so the process can occur on its own, away from potential hospital interventions. This would allow me the opportunity to be comfortable in my own home, eat and walk as I pleased, and use our Jacuzzi-like bath tub.

As an aside, we never considered a home birth as an option. We were not comfortable should
a complication arise during labor and delivery, namely a ruptured uterus. We felt that the distance
between our home and the hospital was too great. The midwifery practice had a birthing center in
the building that was connected to the hospital by a tunnel, but my past history of a previous c-section
made me ineligible according to their practice policies. So it was back to the hospital for the delivery,
but this time I prepared. I studied as if it was an examination. I trained like it was a marathon.

Monday, March 5, 2012

When I was pregnant I had the incredible good fortune to be able to share the experience with my wonderful friend Nina, who was pregnant during the same time as me with her second child. She was due two months after me and we spent many hours discussing our babies before they arrived. Nina was my go-to person for so many questions about pregnancy, birth, and now of course she is my go-to for questions on how to actually raise that baby. Nina has the unique perspective of having had both an unplanned cesarean birth with her first daughter, Ripley, and a (very carefully planned!) unmedicated VBAC, with her second daughter, Ryder. I'm so excited that she's agreed to share her stories here.

*********************Part One: Ripley's Birth

R and R

Ryder, 7 months, dips her toes in the ocean for the first time as big sis Ripley (2.5) looks on

As siblings, their lives are forever intertwined. When we decided to have a second child [editor's note: Nina and her husband had always insisted they were in the "one and done" camp, so we were all surprised and excited when they decided to have a second baby], I reasoned with my husband, Drew, that only he and his sister share the delight and agony of having two kooky parents, as did my sister and I. Like an inside joke only the two of us could ever understand and share. And so began our journey into having a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC). The story of Ryder’s arrival would not be complete without describing Ripley’s arrival two years prior.

My pregnancy with Ripley was fairly typical: nausea the first trimester, gained weight in the
normal range, felt giddy with anticipation the entire time. I took my daily prenatal vitamins as directed,
stayed away from your laundry list of foods to avoid while pregnant and stayed with my OB/GYN
practice that I had started with five years prior for my routine gynecological care. And right there, that
was probably my first mistake. I am a law-abiding, rule follower by nature. I have no problems with
authority and never challenge the establishment. I had absolute faith and trust in nature and that my
body will grow this amazing thing and that my body will just figure it out. I wanted a natural birth but I
didn’t know what that meant. My mentality was to trust fate, let things play out and see how it goes. I
read two books, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy.”
We took a day long birth class together and toured the hospital, all given by a staff member of the
hospital. I was about as ready as a pig on its way to the slaughterhouse, oblivious to everything.

On a Monday night, at 36 weeks and two days pregnant, I went to bed as usual, except I felt
a snap in my abdomen as I lay down. I felt a rush of adrenaline come over me, but then I reasoned to
myself “This is way too early” and “Everyone I know had their first baby late.” About an hour later, I
got up as usual for my first of many trips to the bathroom. When I lay down, I felt some fluid leak and
my first thought was that I just peed myself. I got up to wipe and when I laid down, it happened again. I
hoped this wasn’t what I thought it was but I knew.

After the third trip to the bathroom, Drew gently asked in his groggy voice, “What’s wrong?”

He bolted straight up in bed. He turned to look at me, “What do we do?”

The details of the night are still pretty clear, but rather hilarious. Drew and I were online trying
to find a phone number to reach the on-call doctor. I felt fine but was getting a little nervous. My next
appointment was later that week, and we were supposed to go over what to do for the big day. The
giddiness was rising inside, but so was the anxiety. Drew had to go out and get maxipads because I
didn’t have any and there was no way I was going to hospital with wet pants. I still had to pack a bag
but before that, I had to wash a baby outfit. And the dishes in the sink had to be washed because one of
my greatest pet peeves is to return from a trip with dirty dishes in the sink. And, did I forget to mention
that there was a snow storm in the forecast? So here was Drew, shoveling two tire tracks down our long driveway and sprinkling salt at 2 AM like a dutiful husband.

When we arrived at the hospital at 6 AM, the first thing they did was check that my water truly
indeed did break. I was nervous. Part of me was hopeful that I was wrong and that I might go back to bed
and get more sleep. The other part of me was annoyed and insulted that they didn’t believe me and
had to use litmus paper to confirm amniotic fluid. The nurses and staff went about their job, as calm
and normal as can be and here we were, our minds racing with adrenaline and excitement that this baby would arrive by day’s end.

We were directed to a labor and delivery room. Immediately I was asked to change into a gown
as a nurse went about getting the room ready. She asked me a huge laundry list of questions while
another came in to take what felt like a quart of blood out of me. Then she proceeded to insert an IV
port into my hand and strap a fabric belt with a plastic device around my rotund belly to monitor the
baby’s heart beat. It was all surreal until the monitor began projecting the thump-thump of our baby’s
heartbeat. I sat patiently on the bed, cross-legged, waiting for my baby to arrive. I wanted to be a good,
cooperative patient. The contractions had begun, but only mildly. I was 3 cm dilated upon arrival.

By 1 PM, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. The contractions were starting to feel like bad
menstrual cramps. On a normal day, I would have popped some ibuprofen by now. I reminded myself
that I had wanted to “see how it goes” but my anxiety and fear got the best of me. The only friend I
knew who had given birth naturally without an epidural had done so with the use of a narcotic called
Stadol. It is a medication given intravenously, as she said, “to take the edge off.” I felt like Alice in
Wonderland, discovering the rabbit hole. Deal with the contractions? Well, maybe, if I could just take
the edge off. As soon as they injected the medication, I immediately relaxed and felt more comfortable.
So comfortable that I fell asleep, or I thought I did. I started to hallucinate. Closing my eyes helped
but I kept seeing images of purple milk and could hear my husband chuckling at me. I could feel the
contractions coming and going, like ocean waves at the beach, peaking then slowly drifting away. Then things started to get worse. I felt like I had no control, like I was so intoxicated. The room was spinning out of control, and I couldn’t make it stop. I remember feeling so tired, just so tired and wanting to give up. If only my water hadn’t broken at midnight, I could have gotten more sleep and been ready for this day. Why? Why couldn’t you wait, little Baby? And then, I snapped out of it. Stadol’s effect had passed.

It was 5 PM and I was only seven cm dilated with a lot of work ahead. Weren’t you supposed
to be here by now little Baby? That was it. This was the point that I asked for an epidural. Three more
centimeters? Are you kidding me? Hail down that anesthesiologist because this mama is ready.

Within 30 minutes the anesthesiologist arrived. He was nice enough, spoke in clear, calm
sentences. Again, I was nervous but the procedure was easy. Immediately I could relax. I mean,
just relax. I didn’t feel anything. And this time, I did fall asleep for hours and it felt so good. I was so
exhausted, like pulling an all-nighter and then running a race. My mind was blank, my body like Jello.

Two hours later, the nurse came into our room and immediately moved the baby monitor all
over my belly. Apparently she was losing the signal. After tossing me side to side like a rag doll, she
seemed content enough with the signal and left. The best part was that she would turn the volume to the maximum level, so the baby’s heart beat echoed off the walls like we were in a night club. Ten
minutes later, she was back, cranking up the volume (we had turned it down when she left), pushing
the monitor all over my belly: up, down, side to side. She pushed me to my left side, then my back side, then my right side. Finally, she went and got the doctor. At this time, I was laying on my left side, curled up in fetal position, or at least I think I was. Who knows what my legs were doing given how numb I was. The nurse and the doctor stood quietly in front of the monitor, just staring at it. It seemed like ten full minutes passed before either of them said anything to the other. My husband stood behind them, peeking over their shoulders.

The doctor checked me. Nine centimeters! I was almost there when the doctor gave me the
news I suspected: we needed to do a c-section. She said I could be in labor another hour and then
have to push for another hour. This could go on for two more hours and the baby’s heart beat was not
stable. Could the baby and I tolerate this for another two hours? Probably not. And I believed her. I
trusted her because she was the doctor and I wanted to be a good patient.

Because of the epidural, they had given me a medication called pitocin. The pitocin speeds up
labor because the effects of an epidural alone tend to slow down labor. In my case, the pitocin caused
a “tonic contraction” lasting ten minutes. A normal contraction lasts 90 seconds. This tonic contraction
created a lot of stress on the baby, causing the heart rate to increase rapidly to 190, followed by a sharp
drop to 60. The doctor asked me if I had any questions. The only question I could muster was “When
are we doing this?”

Friday, March 2, 2012

1. Beco Gemini. I ordered this when our well-loved BJÖRN carrier started making my shoulders ache, which for me was right around 16 lbs. Hubs could still carry Finn in it for a few pounds past that but now he's a Beco convert as well. It's almost as easy to put on as the Bjorn, and about one million and a half times more comfortable. We can carry Finn in the front facing in or out, on the side (hip), and as a backpack. He's about 23 lbs now and it's still a super comfortable and convenient way to tote him around. I wanted to use this for awhile before I reviewed it, but now that we've had it for months I can safely say we love it.

2. Baby Deedee Sleep Nest. This is the best sleep sack ever, and I have it to thank for many nights of uninterrupted sleep. Finn had long outgrown the swaddle, but needed something to keep him warm and contain his flailing legs just a little bit. The original has been perfect for winter, and I just ordered the Sleep Nest Lite for this summer. I wish all baby clothing snapped over the shoulders and zipped up the front: genius.

4. Biscuit Board Books. Finn goes absolutely nuts over these. The current favorite is the Valentine's Day Edition, and I think we have read it approximately 4,397 times. I could recite it in my sleep, but it is worth it for the big grins it receives. We have the Christmas and Hannukah versions and you can bet on the Easter one showing up in a basket near Finn soon.

5. Citrus Lane. Okay, this is more of a fun indulgence than a "can't live without", but we have been introduced to some really great products via this monthly goodie box. Last month we received (among other things) a toy from P'kolino that has quickly become one of Finn's favorites. There is always a mom gift in the box too :) (Click here for a 20% off coupon code.)

I'll be back on Monday with the first in a set of posts I am so excited about... my friend Nina has agreed to share her birth stories with you all. She has the unique perspective of having gone through both a C-Section and a natural unmedicated birth. I hope you'll enjoy reading her stories as much as I did. :)